


Miscalculation

by Anonymous



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gen, M/M, and yoshio ootori reconsiders his approach to parenting, but tamaki is there, dealing with the fallout, kyouya suffers quite a bit, so is the rest of the host club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his father's suggestion Kyouya proceeds to befriend a new transfer student at Ouran. However, while Kyouya and the other Host Club members notice something off about him early on, Kyouya does not anticipate the outcome correctly. Nor his father's reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing "happens" in this chapter, but this is a central theme of the entire fic: how to deal with something that did not happen, but almost happened. So please be prepared for some more unpleasant issues. 
> 
> Other than that, this is moved here from [ffnet](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8446104/1/Miscalculation)

"Shirokawa's eldest son is joining Ouran tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Indeed, father."

"You've met him already at the presentation of their last quarter report, didn't you? A friendship might be advantageous for our family, as well."

* * *

Kyouya has done his research when he meets Shirokawa in Ouran's hallway for the first time (just as he expected, his own class is currently en route to another attempt at physics that will bore one half to tears, while the other half really could not care less. Shirokawa's class is due for a go at music lessons.). Shirokawa is conspicuous by towering over the rest of the student body by a good head – Mori may still be taller, and Mori may also be the better material artist, but Shirokawa is built like a pro-wrestler.

"Ootori-kun!" Shirokawa exclaims, a wide smile spreading over his face – the students part for him automatically.

Kyouya ignores Tamaki's reaction (yes, Kyouya has a number of acquaintances in his age range outside of Ouran), and steps forward with a smile of his own. "Shirokawa-senpai. It's a pleasure to see you here."

Shirokawa laughs. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe it – so many new people, and I don't know anybody. You have no clue how happy I am to see a familiar face. Say, do you think you could show me around? Or just help me find my way? I think I already got lost about three times in two days, and honestly, my sense of orientation isn't that bad."

"Of course I can. Ouran's grounds are quite vast," Kyouya replies instantly. He thinks this may be a good moment to introduce Tamaki – he can feel the blond growing impatient beside him. The moment he is about to speak, Shirokawa interrupts.

"Super! After school, then?" Shirokawa appears rather eager. He is also standing a little too close for Kyouya's comfort.

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I will be busy with club. Maybe …"

"Never mind, I'll just wait then," Shirokawa says as if that's the most obvious thing in the world, "Well, I have to run now. See you later!"

Kyouya feels Tamaki's inquisitive gaze boring into him. "An acquaintance," he replies to the unvoiced question.

* * *

"Who is that guy?" Haruhi asks during a quiet second. Few of those exist during club hours – most are hard-won during costume-changing or costume-readjusting time.

Kaoru, adjusting a colorful hat next to her, shrugs.

"Shirokawa Kensuke," Hunny chimes in, "Transferred to Ouran just this Monday. It seems he knew Kyou-chan from before."

She nods thoughtfully, eyeing the tall third-year student (who, occupying Kyouya for this afternoon, had garnered much attention) curiously. Probably he is just at odds with all the new faces and sought out the sole familiar one.

Of course, owing to her distraction her costume ends up crooked, earning her a severe scolding from both Hikaru and Tamaki.

* * *

Shirokawa, it turns out, remains bad at making friends. While he is certainly not bad looking, a number of girls are simply intimidated by his sheer size. As are also a number of their male classmates, according to Hunny's and Mori's report. Another rumor blames his odd behavior and strange statements made in class – for the host club, well used to Tamaki's antics – this is merely something to shrug off.

Still, after ten days Kyouya admits Shirokawa's presence is bad for business – due to scaring off a number of shyer customers as well as occupying Kyouya's time exclusively. Thus, the next day ten minutes into the hosting session the twins accidentally spill a can of soda over Shirokawa, and the third-year student has no choice but leave (nobody mentions the room stuffed with costumes right next door).

Moments after Shirokawa is out of the door, Tamaki tackles Kyouya with a shout of "Mother!", while the twins join in, cajoling about how Daddy needs to make a bigger effort from now on, because "Daddy doting on his daughter is wonderful, but he needs to take care of Mommy too! If he doesn't, somebody else might take Mommy away, and then we'd all be sad, wouldn't we, Kaoru?"

"Terrible, Hikaru, but as long as you are there, I will not fall apart. If somebody tried to take you away from me, however, I would not know how to survive," Kaoru hugs his brother closer amid enthusiastic cheering from their audience.

"Neither would I, beloved brother," says Hikaru, and noise levels go straight through the ceiling.

Then Tamaki takes the stage. "More fool was I – almost blinded by love for my adorable daughter – " Nobody even sees Haruhi roll her eyes – "that I forgot about the one who has been by my side for so long. Will you ever forgive me, mother?"

Kyouya is gritting his teeth too hard to reply. Decking Tamaki seems a valid option, though for some reason he himself introduced a "no violence during business hours" policy some time ago. It had sounded like a good idea, then, though he honestly can't remember any good reason – especially when Tamaki throws an arm around his shoulder and forcibly draws him into a hug.

And the girls love it.

"I promise, I shall make up for my lack of attention! From now on I will not let anybody separate Mommy and Daddy! Not even Mother's beloved notebook!"

Kyouya attempts to catch a glimpse of Tamaki's face – that last declaration was new to the script – though instead found his own face thoroughly pressed against the crook of Tamaki's neck (bony, hard, and his glasses get squished to his faze). Furthermore, Tamaki's imitation of an octopus is very skillfully done – he has no choice but to stumble along as Tamaki drags him over to one of the couches.

Eventually, they host together – something they rarely do – the girls are ecstatic, and as unreadable as Kyouya is, Haruhi gains the expression he is not quite adverse to it. Even if the first thing he does afterwards is head for his laptop.

* * *

Any joy is gone from Kyouya's face the next day when Tamaki proudly presents his cosplay plan: acting out their family roles, in Victorian-style costumes. Haruhi is not happy either – while Tamaki gushes over details and how this is going to show the depth of their bond.

Hunny is not concerned what he wears as long as there is cake. Nobody has yet dared to suggest to Mori to wear a dress. Kyouya is about to refuse (though secretly he is impressed at how Tamaki managed to make arrangements in such a short time), but then the twins cheerfully proclaim they will act as female twins today. Victorian lady's fashion may be heavy and restrictive, but they're future designers – fashion is not about being comfortable (unless on special occasions); to them fashion is art.

Thus Kyouya acknowledges defeat, dons the hideously uncomfortable costume and concurrently lectures the twins that corsets went out of fashion for a reason, namely constituting a danger to internal organs – _and stop tightening it further!_

Tamaki is happy with the final result, and the rest of the club eventually admits that yes, organization and execution certainly went smoothly. Their customers react better than predicted – Kyouya has, to his regret, not yet been able to correctly identify the factor by which the response of their customers to hosts in female get-up is amplified.

The twins' act does not make calculating this any easier. Their sisterly(?) love-act takes the audience in at once, and there is much cooing, squeeing, swooning and fainting. Five customers have to go and sit outside to calm down before the first ten minutes are over – a new record. Hikaru, unfazed, proceeds to play with Kaoru's skirt, faux-accidentally exposing one nicely-shaped, stocking-clad leg to the world. Not that Kaoru, resting on hand tenderly against his brother's cheek and playing with the hair-extensions, is any better.

If there is any dialogue it is lost among the exhilarated fangirls' yells.

Hunny and Mori have taken over the role of observing neighbors/ distant cousins. They, and their customers, sit – pretentiously civilized – around a table, drinking tea, eating lemon cake – and sharing hair-splitting (and toenail-curling) tales of the "family next door". According to Hunny, Tamaki swept "Mommy" of her feet in a whirlwind romance, leading them to elope to Iceland, before eventually settling down in Japan. Also, Tamaki is a professional dancer, and Kyouya used to work for the secret service.

Tamaki is more than happy to take the very random cues and go with them. Haruhi is happy that her name rarely appears in those convoluted tales. There may be a bit fewer customers at her table today, but at least those that are present are all capable of holding a decent conversation. Or spontaneously providing her with in-depth analysis of the host clubs' behavioral patterns. Which included a number of far-reaching conclusions Haruhi really could have done without (those included the terms: oral fixation, early-stage schizophrenia, projecting, id, and arachnophobia).

An hour into that madness Kyouya decids to sneak out for a break. His cheeks feel as stiff as the dress. And the next person to tell him this ten-kilo abnomination looks good on him was going to suffer. Grievously.

He has not expected to find somebody else in his sanctuary (a small sitting room, two doors down from the third music room. Probably a storage room earlier, now mostly empty but for some armchairs, a table and a lovely view of the sunset).

"Ootori!" Shirokawa grins at him, "Just the person I was waiting for. And I must say, this outfit looks lovely on you. You wouldn't by any chance be willing to accompany me like this to, let's say, the opera some time?"

Kyouya glares at him, and Shirokawa waves it off, laughing. "Never mind, never mind."

And then he steps closer, eyeing Kyouya intensly. "But you do look good, honestly."

Kyouya steps back, and his back hits the wall. Shirokawa seems to take no note of his discomfort (not that Kyouya is showing it, really, but backing somebody up against a wall is generally not considered polite).

"You know, I was thinking," Shirokawa says, and there is an odd tension in the air. Kyouya glances about the room, and just when Shirokawa reaches out for him, saying something about "the two of us are…" he exclaims "oh, there it is!" and pushes past the older student.

Kyouya picks up a random book from the table, and directs a polite smile at Shirokawa. "Well, I need to get back."

* * *

"He's annoying," is Hikaru's verdict after three weeks have gone by. Shirokawa seems to be everywhere Kyouya is – waiting after club, dropping in during class. Even Tamaki can't bring himself to like the third-year student.

"Maybe he's just insecure," Haruhi suggests without much conviction. Superficially it seems rather ridiculous for the bulkiest student at school to feel insecure of all things – but this is Ouran, and the picking order is not decided by muscle.

"Doesn't act like it, though," says Kaoru, "I mean, the clingy part fits, but it's not as if he was actually trying to befriend anybody from his year. He doesn't even try to get into contact with Hunny-senpai or Mori-senpai."

"Annoying," Hikaru reaffirms. Then he tilts his head. "And creepy, I think."

It's not a nice thing to say about somebody you hardly know – but Haruhi does not protest. And not because their math teacher just walked in.

* * *

During week no.4 of Shirokawa's presence Kyouya finds himself a lot of more tolerant of Tamaki's spontaneous side-trips when migrating from one classroom to another. It is almost as if Shirokawa memorized his time-table. And while Kyouya would never admit it, he subconsciously realizes he has started dodging the other.

Which can't go on. His father said to make friends, after all.

Thus, the next time Shirokawa waylays them, Kyouya lets himself be dragged away with a smile, mentioning to Tamaki to go ahead, and saying nothing about the too-tight grip Shirokawa has on his upper arm.

Unfortunately for him, however, Shirokawa seems to have no intention of letting go, even after they reached his destination – a secluded spot on the school's extensive grounds. Rather far away from the music room – he'll have to hurry to make it in time for club.

"… and it seems like I hardly ever see you anymore, Kyouya," Shirokawa says, smiling down at Kyouya, who can't recall ever having invited the other to use his first name.

"Well, we are both fairly busy after all," Kyouya says politely, raising his hands – he does not dare to push him away, since that is too close to a straight-out offense. And if he offends Shirokawa he can bury any hope of inheriting the Ootori empire instantly.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. But I kind of really hope we'll get to spend some more time together, because, you know, I think we get along really well. Like, they say, a house on fire." Kyouya does not like the glint in Shirokawa's eyes as he is saying this.

The moment Kyouya had heard about Shirokawa joining Ouran he had done his homework. Their previous, superficial encounters had already revealed a number of uncomfortable details. Deeper research had not done anything to joss the tentative hypothesis Kyouya had developed.

Shirokawa had been young when his parents had gotten a divorce – a bad one, accompanied by bad press, fierce fights and few thoughts spared on how this was going to affect the couple's young son. Only a few month down the road and Shirokawa senior found living in the house impossible, disappearing for month-long business trips as often as possible.

"I want us to be best friends, Kyouya," Shirokawa proclaims, both of his hands now resting on Kyouya's shoulders – uncomfortably warm, and improperly close. (It is hypocritical of him, Kyouya realizes, he reacts completely different to comparable types of behavior from Tamaki. But he really does not like being so close to Shirokawa, not when the taller student is looking at him this intently.)

"And also I want…" A ringing cellphone cuts off whatever else Shirokawa intends to say, and Kyouya takes a step back with an apologeptic smile.

"Please excuse me," he says before taking the call.

* * *

"I don't like him," says Hunny, and the rest of the host club members (minus Kyouya, who is, once again, absent), "He feels weird."

"And wasn't there some story about him telling some wild tale in class recently?" asks Hikaru, lazily draped over one of the arm chairs in the music room, "I heard it from one of our customers yesterday. Apparently he sometimes sprouts total rubbish without even noticing it."

"Well, I don't know him very well, but I can't say I found him likeable either," Haruhi adds, "But I wonder why Kyouya-senpai puts up with him. From what I can see he doesn't enjoy Shirokawa-senpai's company very much."

"Ah, well," Tamaki turns from his perch on the window still (he has taken up brooding with renewed ferocity lately), "This is … well, …"

"Shirokawa's father runs a successful pharmaceutical company," Kaoru chimes in.

"Exactly. And a friendship might be beneficial…" says Tamaki, and sounds as if he is quoting somebody else.

There isn't much else anybody needs to say. Haruhi has heard enough about Ootori Yoshio's high expectations, and she is familiar enough with Kyouya's thought patterns to realize that the option of not befriending Shirokawa did simply not exist.

"Well, he's still one creepy weirdo," says Hikaru, "And I agree with Haruhi; I don't think Kyouya enjoys being dragged around by him too much."

"He doesn't," says Tamaki in a flat tone. And Haruhi realizes that Tamaki is a lot more concerned than the rest of them.

* * *

"Go ahead without me," Kyouya tells Tamaki after class the following Friday, "I may be late as well – just make certain you get on with the program as planned."

Tamaki raises an eyebrow, Kyouya waves a folded note at him and Tamaki smiles – to this day he is the only student who received enough invitations to secret meetings (confessions) to spend one entire day outside of class. A stern addressing of the issue however had led to a decrease in those invitations.

Then Tamaki hurries out of the room – and Kyouya's smile falls. The note in his hand is written by Shirokawa. Inviting him to meet him down in the cellar.

And already now Kyouya is fairly certain this particular meeting is going to be awkward.

Tamaki is surprised to find a sign stating club is cancelled today attached to the door of the third music room. Especially since the entire club is assembled, seated around a laptop.

"Isn't Kyo-chan with you?" Hunny-senpai inquires.

"No," Tamaki replies, "Why is the club…?"

"We did some snooping," says Hikaru, while Kaoru simultaneously corrects "We did some research."

"Maybe it's better if Kyouya-senpai isn't here for this part," Haruhi contemplates, "I mean, he needs to know, but…"

Tamaki is over at their makeshift conference table with few, wide steps. Carelessly he casts his school bag off into a corner, and drops down on the couch next to Kaoru. "What is going on?" he asks, not attempting to hide his unease.

"Well, you know how Haruhi and I sometimes try to makes sense of the club's finances?" Kaoru sets out, "And recently there was a steep increase in the sale of photo books and memorabilia. Especially those featuring Kyouya-senpai."

Kaoru looks rather uncomfortable, and Hunny sets his plate with half-eaten cake down. "So we traced the credit card used for those purchases," he explains without batting an eyelash, "And found out it belongs to Shirokawa."

The lack of honorific is telling, especially when used by Hunny. Haruhi feels a cold shudder run down her spine, while Tamaki has paled.

"Also, we managed to get a glimpse at some other records," Hikaru continues, "He was in treatment for psychological issues a number of times. And one of his teachers left a remark about him displaying obsessive behavior in class."

"It makes sense when you look at his backstory – the guy had a deal of bad luck early on, and of course that leaves some traces," says Kaoru, "But well, I don't think letting him obsess over Kyouya-senpai is helping, really."

"It isn't," Haruhi adds, with determination.

"Which is why we wanted to tell Kyou-chan, and then maybe find a way for Shirokawa to get help," Hunny explains cheerfully.

Tamaki's chest feels tight – the plan sounds as sound as most host club endeavors do, but he can see it working. There is something else in this that deeply disturbs him – he just can't quite put a finger on it yet.

"Where is Kyouya-senpai, anyway?" asks Haruhi.

"He got a confession," replies Tamaki, still trying to figure out what makes him feel so uneasy.

Hunny frowns. "But Tama-chan, you know that confessions like that are not allowed here anymore."

"Only somebody new wouldn't know about that rule," says Hikaru.

A split moment later they simultaneously reach the same conclusion.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On we go... to the essential question of what happened if nothing happened.

Kyouya takes in the state of the empty corridor with a half-hearted frown. Ouran's cellar hallways most certainly are in no state of disrepair, yet the décor is not up to par. And he hasn't heard of them to be popular for confessions of any sorts.

He snorts silently. Somewhere in the back of his mind he keeps hoping a confession is not why Shirokawa has requested to meet him here, after hours – but that is the only logical conclusion to be gained from both Shirokawa's clingy behavior and this out-of-way location.

At least the location implies Shirokawa does not realistically expect any feelings to be returned; thus this place will save both of them some embarrassment. Both, because Kyouya, for all his experience of refusing girls, has yet to have to turn somebody down of his own gender (rejecting Tamaki whenever he turned overly attached or got too lost in his fantasies does not count).

A glance at his watch reveals it to be two minutes to three, and not a hair of Shirokawa to be seen.

Maybe he wizened up, concluded this to be too much and hightailed out of Ouran. Hopefully out of the country as well, though Kyouya has to admit that his own father will not be too happy with a lack of … contact.

Then he hears footsteps behind him.

Kyouya sighs, steels his nerves – and abruptly a large arm wraps around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, while a piece of white cloth is shoved against his face. He recognizes the sharp smell immediately – his efforts to squirm free are in vain (the grip is as tight as a Boa Constrictor's) – and just has a split second to wonder what has gone wrong – he is certain this is Shirokawa and not a random kidnapping attempt – but why has he not expected …

The world fades away.

* * *

"Where the hell did they disappear to?" Hikaru exclaims, throwing his arms out in frustration. Haruhi is too winded to say a word, while Tamaki keeps biting his lip.

They basically covered most of the school grounds already – at least the spots popular for dates and confessions and every other place they could think of, but none brought results. For now Ouran's sheer size has become a serious disadvantage – and with every passing second they only grow more worried.

And Tamaki keeps thinking about the list of purchases charged to Shirokawa's credit card the twins provided. Shirokawa's behavior in school has been annoying, bordering on creepy (but Tamaki had always guessed that to have been merely his own impression. Kyouya had, after all, never reacted with anything but utmost politeness). The list, however, speaks of obsession.

Tamaki reminds himself not to draw premature conclusions (but his mind conjures up nightmares). The rest of the host club is not helping – with Hikaru fretting openly, Kaoru reciting all locations at school he can think of, and Hunny and Mori once again off on their own.

(Truthfully, Tamaki thinks, they have it right. He also could fret while walking, but he is frozen.) Instead he dials Kyouya's mobile for the twentieth time in just as many minutes. Haruhi is saying something to Kaoru, but he is too distracted listening – once again – to the dial tone.

Kyouya does not pick up, but at three thirty Tamaki's phone rings.

It is Hunny, who tells them in clipped tones that – of all people – Kuze saw Shirokawa head for the cellar underneath the main building.

(And if there is a deity listening, there will be nothing else to it.)

* * *

His wrists ache, and are probably bleeding – Kyouya can't quite tell. There is a constant ringing in his ears, the lack of glasses has left him dizzy and the gag – Shirokawa's shirt – either chokes him or is making him nauseous with the stench of sweat.

Maybe he shouldn't have tried screaming. Or biting, whenever any limb of Shirokawa came near. A painful jolt races up his leg, making him curl further into himself.

"You really shouldn't have tried to run, Kyouya," says Shirokawa, while carefully inspecting his ankle, "You could have broken something."

He only fell because Shirokawa tackled him, Kyouya fumes. If that brute hadn't tossed all his body weight at him, he might have gotten to the door. And somehow found a way to open it, even with his hands tied behind his back.

For the time being he jerks his leg out of Shirokawa's grasp. Pain burns through his ankle at the move, but he grits his teeth and makes no sound.

Shirokawa sits back on his haunches. He raises an eyebrow and smiles benignly. "Really, is that necessary?"

Kyouya attempts to burn a hole through his head by the power of his glare alone.

"Well, at least you should know it isn't healthy," Shirokawa admonishes, "Your brothers study medicine, don't they? Didn't anybody teach you to cooperate?"

The creepy, cheerful hum in Shirokawa's voice is joined by an odd twist of the lips. Perhaps a smile, or maybe a smirk. He shuffles away from Kyouya's feet – though Kyouya rolls over, trying to keep his legs between the two of them.

He ought to aim for Shirokawa's head. A good hit might even knock him out.

And it really does not bear thinking on what could happen if this last defense was removed.

This time however, Shirokawa has anticipated the move, and with an ease belying his massive size he gets past Kyouya's guard. In a last ditch effort Kyouya makes to roll away – screw dignitiy and all – but fleshy fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling his upper body up.

His senses scream from disorientation, his neck muscles from strain – and when the black spots fade, Shirokawa's face is far too close; those eyes are fixed far too intently on his face. The glaze in them makes Kyouya even more uncomfortable than the closeness.

"You really are beautiful, you know that, Kyouya," he mutters abruptly, paying no heed to Kyouya's glare, "I know I told you before, and all those girls tell you constantly, but they really don't see you the way I do. Nobody sees you the way I do, after all. They only see that outer layer – you are really something to look at – but only I see what is beneath. Not even your so-called friends do."

Shirokawa nods to himself. "They call you evil and heartless – but they don't know you. Neither do those dull girls you host – though I guess the ones that chose you have better taste at least than the rest of that numb-minded bunch. Really, I don't know how you stand them all…"

He smiles, and Kyouya feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"It's lucky my father decided to relocate here from Nagasaki, isn't it? If I were a romantic I'd call it fate – but no, the relocation was inevitable, and when I heard about it – why stay in Nagasaki when I could come to Tokyo and meet you? You know, it wasn't all that easy to arrange the transfer during the term, but I really couldn't wait for another five month. After all, when do I ever get to see you other than for the release of the quarter reports?"

The second hand – the one that isn't holding Kyouya up by a death grip on his hair – makes to touch his cheek, before being redirected to his shoulder. Kyouya wants to adjust his legs – but can find no purchase to do so. (And he feels queasy.)

"You know, ever since my father introduced us back at that conference two years ago I wanted to go to school with you," Shirokawa continues, gazing off at a point just over Kyouya's shoulder, "I still remember the day just as if it had happened yesterday. You were wearing a dark grey jacket and a white shirt – it made you look like a figure from a black-and-white movie… I really liked those colors on you."

Kyouya does not want to contemplate it, but there is something seriously wrong with Shirokawa. This is not a mere crush the other has on him – which would have been uncomfortable enough – this is far beyond this. Shirokawa did not intend to meet him for a confession at all. Instead his intention, from the very beginning, has been –

Thinking these thoughts, Kyouya reminds himself, is neither constructive nor helpful. (Nor is his rolling stomach).

Shirokawa takes no notice of Kyouya's reaction, lost in his own world. "I even tried to convince my father to let me attend Ouran for High School, but he said it was too far away, and not a good idea businesswise, either. But I worked hard, and even if you can't admit it, the result is wonderful."

Everything but, Kyouya adds in his mind. He isn't yet about to curse the day he had met Shirokawa senior – but making friends with the offspring had obviously not been a good idea.

"But you'll see, in time," Shirokawa smiles (in a way meant to be reassuring, but it sets off every alarm in Kyouya's head), "I mean, the idea does take some time getting used to it. At first I didn't really understand either what I was feeling, and why I kept thinking about you all the time – even in my dreams. You wouldn't believe what happened in my dreams – though I guess I'll tell you later. Hey, we could even act out a couple of them. That would be absolutely great!"

Kyouya swallows down the rising nausea. He tries to shift his body again, and actually dislodges the hand resting on his shoulder. It reaches for the buttons on his shirt instead, and Kyouya can just barely stop himself from flinching.

"You'll like it. We'll both be having the time of our lives, then, " Shirokawa continues in a sing-song voice, "But for now, you have to accept the idea, first. Relax a little, Kyouya. This is going to be great, so just … try to let go."

There go the buttons of his shirt, one after another, undone by surprisingly skilled fingers. Kyouya's breath hitches (he needs to think of something. Fast.).

Shirokawa is pleased – there is a slight flush to his cheeks now. "This is maybe more difficult for you than it is for me. You see, everybody always told me I was good at thinking outside of the box. You seem more … conservative. At least on the outside. We both know it isn't so, do we?"

Shirokawa pushes the shirt down Kyouya's shoulders and leans even closer. His breath tickles Kyouya's cheek – and at that instant he slams his head forward, right into Shirokawa's chin, and when the fingers loosen their grip on his hair he throws his entire weight into the opposite direction.

Kyouya pays not mind to Shirokawa's curse, the ringing in his ears or his aching head, but tries to get his feet underneath him – his ankle screams in white-hot pain, but he is half-way up, when fingers close around his arm and the world tilts abruptly.

Then Shirokawa is kneeling above him, one large hand splayed on his bare chest, keeping him down - and Kyouya aimes a kick directly at Shirokawa's balls. It connects, and the shrill howl echoes off the bare walls, yet a violent slap across his cheek makes Kyouya see stars and fall back down again. A second blow catches him in the ribs – and for a moment he can only lie there winded, gasping for breath, feeling something warm trickle down his cheek.

"Don't," wheezes Shirokawa, "Don't ever try that again."

Like hell, Kyouya vows to himself – but even his inner voice sounds shaky. He is no match for Shirokawa physically, and –

It does not bear to think about.

"I knew you would be hard to convince," says Shirokawa, regaining his composure, "But don't ever do this again, really. You'll only regret it later, Kyouya."

The only thing to regret was actually having taken Shirokawa serious. (No, a mocking voice whispered, exactly the other way round: he has failed to take Shirokawa seriously enough. He had – willfully (he had had all the info, he had even drawn the conclusion) – ignored what he should have known. This one he has screwed up all by himself).

"Well, I guess you'll just learn. For now, relax. It will be fun, I promise," Shirokawa crouches down next to Kyouya who is still curled protectively around his ribs.

Maybe a second kick to his balls will drive him off?

"You need to let go of those rules they teach you. You know what I mean – what society teaches you to stop you from thinking. Drop the mask, Kyouya, and be yourself. I know who you really are – and that you will enjoy this," Shirokawa's voice trembles, "I know what you really want. And I'm going to do this for you – so you can stop pretending. I know what you really want. I know it, Kyouya."

And then there are hands undoing his trousers, and something in his mind snaps.

Kyouya lashes out with his injured leg, catches something – a shout, something heavy goes down with a loud smash; he tumbles away, mindless of the strain on his body. Then a large hand grasps his head, and smashes it against the ground.

The world is gone instantly.

* * *

The cellar door stands no chance against the combined assault from both Hunny and Mori. Haruhi barely has even reached the corridor, when it is blasted from its hinges. Tamaki drops the useless key immediately, rushes forward – there is a shout, Haruhi sees Hikaru falter, then another sound – flesh on flesh – and then she stumbles through the doorway herself, completely out of breath.

In a corner rests the large, unmoving and worse-for-wear shape of Shirokawa – in his undershirt – with Hunny standing over him, his expression hidden from Haruhi. The aura emanating from the small blond alone betrays of unimaginable horror.

Somewhere to her left Tamaki, Mori and Kaoru are kneeling – Hikaru a step behind them, consternation written plainly on his chalk-white face. Kyouya's limp body is hidden from her view by Tamaki – all she sees are his feet, and he is missing one shoe.

Tamaki tosses something aside – and Haruhi spies blood on the ground. Her heart skips a beat.

"Hikaru," Kaoru glances over his shoulder, "Inform the chairman. Make sure nobody else comes down here. And … get a camera."

Haruhi flinches. But she understands – they need evidence against Shirokawa. Otherwise…

Then Tamaki leans back to shrug off his jacket, and Haruhi sees Kyouya's face. Whatever peaceful expression he might be wearing was distorted by a dark bruise on his cheek, and blood running down from his forehead. And his shirt is undone.

"A doctor," she hears herself say, "Call an ambulance."

At this Mori looks up – he is massaging a limp hand – and shakes his head.

"Let the chairman arrange for a private doctor," says Kaoru.

When Haruhi seems about to protest, Hunny speaks up from the other side of the room. "It's okay, Haru-chan. Any private doctor will be here just as fast as an ambulance."

"And what do you think would happen if some newspaper or reporter got wind of this?" asks Kaoru, while Hikaru hurries from the room.

She swallows. Regardless of what actually occurred – she can see Kyouya hell-bent on keeping this from the public. And she does not even want to think about long-term consequences.

Her gaze returns to Kyouya's face. Speaking of consequences –

Tamaki tilts his head thoughtfully, one hand resting gently on Kyouya's shoulder, and his blazer is already draped over Kyouya's chest. "Mori-senpai, do you think we can move him out of here?"

Mori's brow wrinkles, before he gives a nod. Haruhi feels like sighing in relief.

"Then go – I think waking up somewhere else might be good for Kyou-chan. Maybe the sitting room on the first floor would be nice," says Hunny, "And don't worry about Shirokawa. I'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere before the chairman arrives."

The smile on Hunny's face has all instincts in Haruhi scream at her to run away.

Kaoru apparently lacks those instincts. "I'll stay with you, then. You make sure senpai gets treatment."

With another silent nod Mori carefully lifts Kyouya in his arms – Tamaki right next to him. And when Haruhi catches sight of one arm, limply swinging down, the pale fingers bruised and bloodied, she can't help thinking of how this is like a train-wreck: there is nothing she can do, yet she can not look away.

* * *

It turns out there is something she can do, after all.

Making sure the corridors are empty is neither challenging nor requiring special courage, but she understands all too well that Kyouya would hate for anybody to see him like this. Luckily, nobody remains at school long after hours – and even the cleaning staff stays out of sight.

Still she is relieved when they reach the sitting room Hunny has suggested. Mori gently deposits Kyouya on one of the oversized couches, and Haruhi wonders if she has actually ever been to this room before.

Tamaki closes the door, and after a moment of silence Haruhi dares to ask. "How is he?"

Mori glances up – once again massaging a limp hand. However it is Tamaki who answers. "Not seriously hurt physically. But Haruhi, you know…" He trails off, and Haruhi's heart aches at his distracted manner.

Kyouya-senpai is strong, she tells herself.

But in face of what has happened – what on earth is going to happen now?

A movement from the couch draws her from her morose contemplations.

"Kyouya?" Tamaki asks softly.

An unintelligible murmur is his only reply. Tamaki sits down on the couch, replacing Mori on some silent agreement. The older student makes for the door, sitting down on a chair close to it – close enough to keep it shut.

Very carefully Tamaki reaches out and touched Kyouya's shoulder. "Wake up," he says.

Haruhi holds her breath. There is no harsh reaction. Instead Kyouya blinks, disoriented for a moment – then his eyes widen. Yet there is no outward reaction but for his eyes and a sudden intake of air, and then Kyouya lets his head drop back on the couch.

"Tamaki?" he asks after a moment.

"Yes?" Tamaki, Haruhi notes, has not withdrawn his hand from Kyouya's shoulder. And the other has not shrugged it off either. Instead he flexes his fingers – for the first time Haruhi can see bloody abrasions circling his wrists.

"Who else?" Kyouya's voice is soft, but not trembling.

Tamaki bites his lip. "The host club, only. Mori and Haruhi are here, too. Hunny and Kaoru stayed downstairs. Hikaru went to inform my father."

At this, Kyouya allows himself a grimace, before opening his eyes to look at Tamaki.

"My father, " Tamaki continues calmly, "will arrange for a private doctor. You probably sprained your ankle, and that head injury may need stitches."

"I see," says Kyouya.

"Also, the school is legally obligated to contact your family," says Tamaki, and at this Kyouya frowns darkly.

"But you shouldn't worry about that," says Tamaki, "We'll take care of everything. Just rest, and leave everything to us."

Tamaki's smile is heart-wrenching – and Kyouya obediently closes his eyes again.

* * *

When Kyouya's breathing has evened out – something, that Tamaki thinks, happened far too easy considering what just occurred – Tamaki lets his calm façade slip. There is no need to hide what he feels from Haruhi or Mori (and both are too occupied with their own thoughts to notice).

There is a bewildering knot of feelings locked in his chest (and he is afraid of trying to unravel it). He does not know what to think or feel – he only is glad Kyouya did not reject his touch – which is probably selfish in a way – but there is nothing more relieving that touch.

To him, that is. And a very dark corner of his mind wishes Shirokawa nothing but hell unleashed.

Doubly so, when he sees bloodstains on his own hands, on Kyouya's shirt, and on his own clothes. The makeshift bandage Mori applied to Kyouya's head injury already has turned red, and blood is spreading on the couch.

(He knows head injuries bleed a lot – but he wishes a doctor would soon arrive).

Tamaki grits his teeth – the blood summons fresh memories. And he does not want to remember Kyouya on the ground, motionless like a puppet whose strings have been severed (Or where Shirokawa had his hands when they first burst through the door).

The thought of what almost happened (would have, had Hikaru and Kaoru not gone snooping) makes him feel sick. (And horribly, horribly guilty. He calls himself Kyouya's best friend, so how did he miss this? How can he claim to be a friend at all when he wouldn't have even noted the developments unfolding right under his nose?)

There are dozens of other aspects to consider as well – yet Tamaki's mind is frozen in place. He can't quite move past this near-miss (but does this even count as a near-miss? After all, something happened.)

At least the practical things he can handle. This will, he senses, need delicate treatment - not only due to the nature of this … incident (how to call it?), but also due to the parties involved. Privacy is a valuable good where paparazzi are waiting to hear a needle drop; and Kyouya would hate for this to known beyond the sphere of those already involved.

(Kyouya did not want his own father to know, either, and Tamaki understands his reasoning far better than he likes. A part of his wants to believe that Kyouya errs in this – but he has already seriously misjudged one situation today; there is no need to add to this track record.)

Kyouya shifts faintly in his sleep, and Tamaki sighs.

There is a vulnerability to his friend (he knows it's because Kyouya is asleep and his face is bruised), which is completely out of place. Then again, Tamaki has been able to glimpse behind that cool and collected mask -

It's subconscious, but Tamaki finds himself reaching for Kyouya's hand. The abrasions around the wrist have stopped bleeding, but look exceedingly painful, and for a split second he wonders just what Kyouya experienced during those moments with Shirokawa.

(Projecting onto the past in this case is better than projecting into the future.)

Then there is a short knock on the door, and Mori is on his feet the moment Hikaru enters. He's out of breath, pale and his voice is flat when he says:

"The chairman is going to be here in a few minutes."

Tamaki squeezes Kyouya's hand before letting go. He wonders how his father (indeed, how all the adults involved) will react – because in the end, it may appear nothing happened.

But to Tamaki (and he is certain the rest of the club will agree) something did.


	3. Chapter 3

Aktio is nervous. He tries to hide by stirring his coffee, checking the news on his cell phone and reading the paper. However on his third attempt at figuring out what stocks in the US did last night, he is ready to give up.

Then the door opens and Kyouya and Tamaki trudge in – or limp, in Kyouya's case. Both look somewhat grumpy – then Kyouya catches sight of him. And while Kyouya greets him with his standard "good morning" (which always conveys that it is far too early to be even close to good), Tamaki's abrupt cheerful greeting is like a supernova.

(In other words, too bright and Akito is left feeling a bit dazed.)

Only moments after Kyouya and Tamaki have sat down, a maid carries over a tray holding a wild assortment of breakfast options – covering about everything from French croissants to Japanese rice porridge and grilled fish. Akito lingers, hiding behind his paper, and the atmosphere feels stiff for a moment.

Then he clears his throat. "Kyouya, are you okay?"

Kyouya glances up. "Sure."

"I mean, your head injury…"

With an audible clink, Kyouya sets down the butter knife. "Tamaki made certain to wake me up every two hours."

The blond nods enthusiastically. Akito, adding the sideway glare Kyouya had cast to his friend into the equation, realizes that the Suou heir may have been a bit overenthusiastic in his task. Which may well account for the fact that both are sporting shadows underneath their eyes.

Those, Akito recalls, and the injuries Kyouya sports are the only reminders of what occurred the day before. It is … bewildering how normality has resettled almost instantly. Just by looking at them and their surroundings, it is impossible to even guess anything so horrid has ever happened.

Lost in his contemplations, he misses what Tamaki says, and only hears Kyouya snipe back: "The next time I'll just stay up the entire night. It'd be far more productive, too."

"But Kyouya," Tamaki returns, "You need to relax! If we stay up the entire night, we should play video games or watch movies."

"No, absolutely …" Akito glances over his paper when Kyouya stops in the middle of his sentence. Instead of an expression of terror or anything similar, there is a sharp, calculating glint in Kyouya's eyes.

"Actually, Tamaki, this may be a brilliant project for the Host Club. Very cost-efficient, too."

Akito decides then to quietly leave the scene – he needs to rejoin his medical text books, anyway. But it's odd, in a fashion, how normal they all act. Perhaps he is an overly concerned older sibling (not a trait he'd usually associate with himself), but he feels he should be able to at least guess that something (almost) happened to Kyouya the day before.

However, there's absolutely nothing to be picked up from the way his little brother is acting.

* * *

Kyouya is not surprised to be summoned to his father's office (not the main, representative one, but the one he knows his father favors in summer since it has a nice view over the gardens) after a late breakfast. He is almost a bit annoyed had people walking on egg shells all around him - the examination this morning he understood, and Tamaki looked as if he needed to be reassured as well - but Aktio inquiring after his well-being during breakfast (actually concerned) was a bit much.

He knocks, and is asked to come in moments later.

Ootori Yoshio is signing a number of sheets, and gestures for him to sit down in one of the armchairs. Surprisingly, his father joins him on another one a heartbeat later.

"How are you?" he asks after a moment of silence.

Kyouya, knowing the questions's motive, considers. But there is really no other honest answer but "fine". His ribs are smarting at certain movements, but neither the head wound or the abrasions on his wrists are causing him pain. Well, the ankle is a bit of a hindrance.

"Your head?" Yoshio asks, studying his son's features intently.

Kyouya finds the attention slightly unsettling, but keeps his head erect and his features smooth. "It isn't bothering me."

They both know that concussions rarely come with anything less than a headache, but Kyouya isn't willing admit to feeling less than perfect (and Yoshio, who is perhaps guilty of teaching him to do so, wouldn't know how to deal with it, anyway).

His father raises an eyebrow, and sighs. "If you say so. I believe you are educated enough on the subject to contact the proper channel, if necessary?"

Kyouya nods.

"If I may ask, was there anything that would have ... anticipated that incident? Was Shirokawa acting strange previously?"

Kyouya glances up and sees nothing but honest interest and concern on his father's face - and has no idea how to reply to the question. Does his father want to know if he missed something? Or details on Shirokawa's behavior?

He is stumped, so he slowly shakes his head. "No, there was no indication."

Which is not exactly untrue. Shirokawa had been acting odd - but no different from a girl with a crush, and certainly not remarkably so compared to other of Kyouya's acquaintances. And he did not expect to be attacked by any of them either (does not, really).

Yoshio swallows. "Well, in any case. If, in the future, anybody I suggest you befriend, does act in any way suspicious, do exercise caution. Please do not endanger yourself in order to secure the friendship of fellow student whose parents may be our future business partners - there are numerous other ways of establishing contact."

Kyouya manages to retain control of his expression, though his eyes widen a little.

"Also in that vein, I have to ask if something similar has ever occurred before?"

The emotion in his father's eyes is indeed concern. Honest concern for his well-being - and while Kyouya knows he looks pathetic with bandages around his head and wrists and a crutch leaning against his chair, this is not what he expected.

Still, he replies promptly: "No, never."

Yoshio's inquisitive gaze lingers. "Well, should anybody ever attempt something comparable, no matter who it is, I want you to tell me immediately. Also, on the matter of Shirokawa, I believe we will be pressing charges - privately of course."

Kyouya blinks. "I, ah, I thought ..."

He trails off. Not to question his father's decisions is one lesson each of the Ootori children has learned early on in life.

Yoshio leans forward, looking curious. "What would you have decided?"

Kyouya sits up straight. "Not to press charges. Nothing can be gained from it after all."

(And the risk of having the affair leaked to the press and business associates is far too high. He does not want to think of consequences should this happen. This is too risky, considering nothing actually happened.)

His father frowns. "Kyouya, what Shirokawa attempted is considered a criminal act in about every country in the world. This is not about gaining anything."

Nothing happened, Kyouya wants to say out loud, all he sustained are some bruises - how can that be punishable by law?

Apparently, he is transparent - his father leans forward and carefully (and awkwardly, considering he has never been very affectionate with his children and this is uncharted territory to him) takes one of Kyouya's hands in his own.

"In this case, the criminal act is not so much determined by the outcome, as by the intent. Further, the act was planned, indicating that Shirokawa actively sought to commit it," he can see Kyouya thinking, though he is very, very stiff.

Yoshio sighs to himself, and gives Kyouya's hand a squeeze before letting go of it. "There are some things more important than joint ventures and good connections," he says, aware it is a non-sequitur, yet hoping Kyouya will see what he means, "This is one of them."

* * *

Tamaki is waiting outside, and Kyouya's head is still spinning from his father's words. Maybe the lack of sleep got to him (though Kyouya has known his father to stay awake for 50 hours without even appearing visibly tired), but his father looked, of all things, deeply shaken.

By something that did not happen?

It is like having all the pieces of the puzzle, yet not being able to fit them together. Normally, Kyouya would mull over it until he finds the solution - this time, he feels the solution will come to him (and he may not like it). In the mean time is has to convince Tamaki that he is very capable of handling the staircases in his own home, thank you very much, and how about they start on homework anyway?

* * *

Once Kyouya has left the room - obviously already used to the crutches - Yoshio takes off his glasses, and feels like crying for the first time since his wife died.

To think, that to his youngest child, a business connection is a possible fair trade for (he has to name it, even if his insides revolt) for sexual or other favors. He dreads to imagine what could have happened (not that he knows, and he desperately wants to believe Kyouya when he says nothing comparable ever occurred before) - but he knows that there is a number of shady characters mingling on every other large party, and also a number of respectable members of society with ... questionable tastes (he needs to stop with these euphemism. At least in his own head he ought to be able to name what he sees).

And that is the crux of the problem: he knows what is unacceptable, even for the sake of money (and knows a lot of euphemism for these things that have already, subconsciously, influenced his language), but apparently this distinction is not obvious to Kyouya. (And how could it be, when he himself has never spoken clearly on the matter, to the point that he uses euphemisms even in his own head).

For all he has already done wrong in the upbringing of his children, this is probably his greatest failure.

* * *

Tamaki stays the next night as well (after having promised not to wake Kyouya up, either during the night or the following morning). The practical side effect is, that communication with the rest of the Host Club, as well as Ouran's chairman can be delegated to him – Kyouya is annoyed enough after handling worried calls from Fuyumi and Yuichi; and as he isn't the most communicative being in regards to himself most of the time, he prefers to let Tamaki reassure everybody that he's quite alright, thank you very much.

That is until he overhears Tamaki telling Haruhi: "… I'll be back to class on Monday. Kyouya may not be – it probably won't be a good idea for him to be around so many people that soon."

Tamaki's good intentions earn him a slap on the head with their math textbook (not overly hard, lest those remaining few brain cells perish) and Kyouya takes hold of the phone.

"No, no, Tamaki's fine, Haruhi," he reassured, while Tamaki rubs his head and whines under his breath, "He walked into a door, that's all. You know how he is."

Haruhi is not exactly convinced, Tamaki pouts at him from where he sits (next to Kyouya on the couch, and therefore quite some distance from the next door. However, he has, on occasion, walked into selfsame door) and Kyouya smirks in return. "Don't worry, we should both arrive at school tomorrow in one piece. I'll watch out for the idiot."

Once the phone is stored away (Haruhi, at this point, convinces herself that while she may not exactly trust Tamaki or Kyouya with the other's mental safety, the Ootori household staff is probably capable enough), Kyouya wants to turn back to the task at hand. Their math homework may not be particularly difficult or challenging, but it simply is much, and needs to be done.

Tamaki however casts a concerned glance at him; the earlier dramatic interlude forgotten.

"Is it really alright?" Tamaki inquires, "Going back to school on Monday?"

"Why not?" asks Kyouya (who doesn't want to be having this conversation).

Tamaki frowns down at his math homework. "Well, maybe it would be better for you to rest one more day?"

"While I would appreciate another chance to sleep in," Kyouya answers, "I do not see any other benefits in that."

"I was just thinking so many people might make you uncomfortable," says Tamaki and tears his eyes from the pages of his textbook, looking straight at Kyouya instead, "After what happened…"

Kyouya purses his lips and sits up a little straighter. "While that may indeed be a possible consequence if anything had happened, Tamaki, please remember nothing of that sort has happened to me."

Tamaki blinks. "Eh? Then what…"

"Shirokawa made the attempt," clarifies Kyouya while pushing his glasses up his nose, "But he did not succeed. And while what he attempted to do would have been terrible indeed, well, in the end, nothing happened."

Contrary to Kyouya's expectations, Tamaki's frown does not vanish.

"Maybe," the blond allows, "But even if Shirokawa didn't succeed, something did happen, Kyouya. And that was not nothing."

Kyouya swallows and has to look away. Tamaki has that uncanny ability to see right through him, and currently he feels like he is being x-rayed by those wide eyes. However, as right as Tamaki usually is at those moments, Kyouya believes he still is wrong in this.

"I don't mean it like that," says Kyouya, "What I mean is, while I did walk away with some bruises, nothing traumatizing occurred."

Tamaki does not argue, so they turn back to their math homework. However, even if Kyouya claims not be, Tamaki does feel shell-shocked and traumatized at what almost happened. And if he is, shouldn't Kyouya be feeling it as well? Even just a little?

Maybe this is just what makes the two of them different, but Tamaki is rarely wrong. And so he tells himself to stay at Kyouya's side a little longer – until he can be certain his friend is as happy and healthy as he proclaims to be.

* * *

On Monday, at school, Kyouya fends of numerous concerned and curious questions about his crutch with a patient smile, and a story of how he had a misunderstanding with a staircase on Saturday. The rest of the Host Club watches in silence (they do not like the lies, but this is a tale that cannot be told.)

During lunch break he wanders past the staircase leading down into the cellar.

For a moment the memories surface – absurdly intense. Then, with a shake of the head, Kyouya banishes them. Stairs are just stairs.

And while there is a lot of talk in popular literature on how places and objects can become tied to a certain memory, in his case there is no reason. After all, nothing happened down there. (He wonders if he ought to go downstairs, just to prove this to himself).

Then Tamaki waves for him to come over, and these thoughts are set aside.

In the evening, he notices his hand shaking, and, well, dinner does not really agree with him. Probable sleep deprivation and exhaustion – those symptoms are nothing new or unfamiliar.

On Tuesday he silently curses each and every staircase in existence – his still-healing ankle makes every single one a challenge of its own, especially when the time between classes is limited. In response, Tamaki wordlessly carries Kyouya's things, while at home Akito and Tachibana fend for the title of the most over-attentive household member. (Kyouya draws a line at being carried. He can climb stairs just fine, thank you very much, he only takes two times as long as usual).

The novelty of his crutch is fading, and as such the concerned inquiries also ebb away. He is glad that he already exchanged the bandage over the stitches on his head for a smaller plaster (well-concealed by his hair, and scheduled to come off tomorrow). The wounds on his wrists will take longer to fade, but fixing his shirt cuffs to the bandages ensures those stay out of sight.

He may have to see about getting his Host Club costume adjusted likewise.

On that note, the club resumes business this afternoon with fairly down-to-earth cosplay (for them, anyhow), involving long-sleeved kimono. He is grateful, since this way his ankle is spared and all other injuries remain hidden. On top of that, he can tell the entire club is watching out for him.

(Shirokawa was withdrawn from school immediately. All inquiries about him directed at Kyouya are skillfully misdirected, reflected, rerouted and utterly distracted by whichever host club member is currently at his side.)

Yet he is utterly exhausted by the time he gets home.

There is homework to be done, the host club schedule to be arranged, bookings to be made, cash flows to be calculated and the rest of his usual workload awaiting his attention. In between he is expected for dinner with father and Akito – restricting his already tight schedule further.

For a moment he merely stands in his room, staring at the fish in the large tank unconcernedly swim on their way. He feels pressured in a way he has not quite felt before –

\- and then, for a moment, he is back in the cellar, with Shirokawa leaning close, leering and saying things Kyouya knows he ought to forget. A phantom pressure ghosts over his wrists, and he sinks down on the corner of an armchair, suddenly dizzy.

It makes no sense for him to be feeling this way.

The experience was unpleasant, but nothing happened. Those bruises are fading – a week from now the stitches as well as the crutch will be gone, and with it he ought to be able to cast away the memory entirely.

His breathing is shaky, and it is ridiculous, really.

Nothing happened. He just spent an hour (it felt like much longer) with a psychologically deranged fellow student. Who attempted to -

Kyouya realizes in this split second he ought not to have thought it -

\- to rape him.

His breath hitches.

Something in his mind crumbles, and Kyouya instinctively knows wherever this leads, it is not a good place. So under his last rational power he walks away from his perch and locks himself in his bathroom.

The face reflected back at him in the mirror is white as chalk, and wide-eyed. A shadow of his composure remains, but for the first time in forever Kyouya thinks he looks young and frightened -

\- for no good reason. Nothing happened, even though the rest of world is making a big hubbub of it. Shirokawa's plan did not succeed; if anything Kyouya is the one who managed to keep him off...

... Until, at least, Shirokawa knocked him out again.

He swallows, leans back against the tiled wall and slowly lets himself slide down. There is cold sweat forming on his head (he hates how it makes his hair stick), his heart races and his ankle throbs.

If the Host Club had not figured things out - if he had woken, still alone with Shirokawa -

He would have continued fighting him off.

Still, Shirokawa was stronger. And Kyouya's movements had been restricted. And Shirokawa may have not waited until he regained consciousness at all...

Suddenly there are tears on his face, and he can't breathe. A part of his mind thinks that at least there is over an hour until dinner, hopefully enough time to recover from this unnecessary bout of hysterics.

Then it's all walls closing in, and desperation like he never felt it before (consciously. It tastes familiar, however, like lying in an out of the way cellar room, hands tied and facing an obsessed and delusional fellow student). He knows he must not think of this - but for now there is stopping this torrent of thoughts.

For a split second (before his rational side has time to catch up) he wants to call Tamaki.

Then he pushes this notion aside - he can work through this on his own. While attempting to stop the tears and calm his breathing, Kyouya reconsiders.

The events left him far more shaken than expected (or warranted, though perhaps not so to the rest of the world). Usually, assault victims are recommended seeing a counselor - which he would avoid, seeing as appointments of this time may come back to haunt him in the future (who on earth would want a CEO with issues?)

Treatment with a professional is out of question - but he can attempt it on his own. What do they always recommend? Talking about it (the notion is uncomfortable, even if Kyouya is fairly certain he has friends willing to listen and be discreet. If recent events are to be believed, even his father and brothers would do so); confronting the memory (which means either facing Shirokawa or heading down into the cellar. The latter will be easily accomplished - preferably before the end of the week - the former will draw too much attention); writing things down (well, he is not usually one to express himself that way, but paper is easy-to-destroy evidence, and he may very well try).

Once he has washed his face, brushed his hair and straightened his collar, Kyouya leaves his bathroom with a new determination. Since nothing happened, he shouldn't even be getting upset.

Since however his mind appears to be more affected, he will deal with it. Discreetly, and with as little outside involvement as possible.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :3


End file.
